Of Poking and Other Silly Activities
by onlyacoffee
Summary: A few short, silly, cute, whatever drabbles about Russia and Poland, and sometimes their good friend Lithuania too. To be updated whenever I write new ones or something. Newest: RusPol, Poland is drunk - again? Russia stays polite, which is both cute and no fun (yet).
1. Cheeks

_A silly RussPol drabble for my friend Saucy! She requested someone poking Po's cheeks._

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><p>Russia doesn't actually want to take advantage of Poland. He swore he would be kind, nice, and fair. He wants to be a good lover, and if he knows Poland well enough - and he likes to think he does, after all, they have known each other for a very long time - Poland wouldn't fall asleep on his lap like this if he didn't trust Russia with his life.<p>

Which he does. Russia is not naive enough to ignore how fortunate he is to have this trust, and he certainly doesn't want to betray it by, by - touching him while he is asleep.

Poland's pajamas - a bright shade of green that would look ridiculous on anyone but the small blond - are riding up over his stomach, leaving wide expenses of pale skin uncovered. The short, frilly pants expose his slender legs and his hair, usually always perfectly styled are messed up in an adorable way.

His favorite part - what makes him sigh in happiness - is Poland's cheeks, with their soft skin, just a little freckled, rosy with sleep.

Russia thinks Poland's cheeks are absolutely delightful. They make him smile and wish he had a camera with him so he could capture this moment and cherish it.

But he doesn't and cannot rise to get it with Poland asleep on his lap, so he settles on poking them with his thumb.

Once. Twice.

Poland opens a bleary eye and moans.

Three times.

"H-hey... stop it," Poland blushes. Russia's smile widens.

Four times.

"I s-say stop it!"

"No!" Russia replies cheerfully. Poland looks like he'll protest, so Russia reaches down to kiss him.

Poland blushes even harder, but he stops complaining, and Russia can keep touching these adorable cheeks.


	2. Poke

_Quick five-minutes drabble written… at work. Oops ?_

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><p>Poland poked Russia's belly, hard. Russia winced.<p>

"Pol'sha… you are hurting me."

"Nonsense, you big loaf. You probably, like, couldn't even feel that."

He poked him again, harder this time, as if to prove a point. Russia winced, again.

"Pol'sha, no. I am feeling it, and it hurts."

Poland raised an eyebrow.

"Really?"

And he resumed his poking. Russia forced himself to keep still as the small fingers digged time and time again into the – very little, if you asked him – flab of his middle, and thought about how he could make Poland pay.

Maybe tickles?

"Pol'sha, please…"

Russia didn't want to start a tickling fight. It would get dangerous, maybe, and someone could get hurt. It often happened during tickling fights, the dangerous, silly things.

Fortunately, Poland got the hint and finally stopped, a pout on his pretty pink lips.

"You're no fun…"

Russia smiled, relived.

"No. I think I am."

As he kissed that silly little pout away.


	3. Legs

_NSFW, threesome and phonesex and somehow a request from my friend Tik about Poland's legs became this._

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><p>Poland has amazing legs; long and slim, with finely muscled calves. His feet are small, and he always prided himself on his delicate-looking ankles.<p>

And he waxes, too, leaving the skin soft and smelling of lotion…

Just imagining these legs is enough to make Lithuania ache in anticipation.

"Tell me, Poland… what are you doing?"

At the other end of the line, Poland giggles. If only there were in the same city tonight…

"I'm, like, lying on the bed… Russia's right next to me. Wanna walk to him a bit?"

Lithuania grunts an answer. Giggling again, Poland passes the phone to the larger nation.

"Hello, Litva," Russia says. Lithuania can hear the smile in his voice. "Did you have a good day?"

"Russia…" Lithuania doesn't feel like talking. It feels dirty, inappropriate to talk about his day when they are…

"Me and Pol'sha certainly did, didn't we?"

From the sounds he is making in the background, Lithuania can imagine Poland reaching for the phone again, but Russia doesn't let him. He can picture the smaller blond flop back down on the large bed, pouting.

"Now we are resting, but only for a little moment. Tell me. Are you dressed?"

"I…" Lithuania's throat feels dry. "I'm wearing boxers right now. And a shirt."

Russia hums.

"That is nice, isn't it? Litva, please, unbutton your shirt."

Feeling his face heat up, Lithuania obeys.

"I would be unbuttoning Pol'sha's shirt, too," Russia continues, his voice smooth and calm. "But I rather like it on him. It is white, and the collar is a little too big. I think it may be one of yours, Litva."

_Yes_, Lithuania thinks. It's probably the white shirt he left at Russia's home in his hurry to pack to go back to Vilnius on Sunday night.

"It feels very soft… Like your skin, Litva. Is your skin soft? Please, touch it and tell me"

Lithuania slides his hand over his chest, lightly brushing a nipple. His moans must have satisfied Russia, because the larger nation sighs happily.

"I will put the phone down, now. I want Pol'sha to hear you."

_Yes, yes_, Lithuania's mind begs. _I want to hear him. I want to hear him, and you, while you - _

"Liet… o-oh…" Poland's voice is so silky it's almost indecent. "Want…"

"W-what do you want, Poland..?"

"Want… you, and -"

"Me," Russia cuts him off. "I am licking Pol'sha's leg, all over. It is very soft -"

He is silent for a short instant, and Lithuania can hear Poland whimper.

"- and very sensitive, too. Did you know, Litva?"

Yes, Lithuania knows, and he knows Russia knows. They've done this enough. Slowly, he moves his hand downwards, sliding inside his underwear.

"They are almost like a girl's," Russia carries on. "Long and pale and graceful. You know, Litva, he wore very nice pants today, he did. Very… short. And tights, too. They were creamy, but I could see everything. All the little freckles, the little scars. I had to take them off, though, and now they look even better, just for me and you. Can you imagine yourself, Litva? Between those legs? I am sure he would like you to, wouldn't you, Pol'sha?"

Poland can barely make up a coherent response.

"Hn- hn- Russia… yes..!"

Lithuania swallows. His hans tightens around his cock as he starts jerking himself, slowly at first. "W-what are you… doing to him?"

"That's where I am, between his legs. I will fuck him, because he wants me to. I would fuck you too, and then let you fuck him. It would be very nice if you were there, Litva."

God, Lithuania would give anything to be there with them. He closes his eyes and starts jerking faster, faster, picturing Poland's legs around his waist, Russia's strong chest against his back -

"- but tonight, these legs are mine."

Lithuania can hear Russia push - how many fingers? Two? Three? He knows Russia is big - inside Poland, and Poland all but screams at the sensation. The sound makes Lithuania see stars, and precum starts pearling at his tip.

"L-liet, Liet.. want you too, want him, want you both, love you -" Poland is babbling, already close to the edge. He sounds tired, Lithuania's hazy brain can figure out it's not their first round of the day, they must both be red and bruised and sweaty and tomorrow, tomorrow Lithuania will be back, he will kiss them both and love them again, feel their bodies against his, Russia's strong arms around him and oh, Poland's legs -

Lithuania comes with two names on his lips and a delicious, stunning pair of legs on his mind.


	4. Winter Boots

RussPol, another prompt by a friend!

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><p>"So... what d'you think of these?" Poland asks.<p>

"Cute," Russia replies, not looking at Poland's feet. Isn't the weather getting too cold for shorts? The wind must go straight through these thin leggings... "Are you sure they are not too big?"

Poland glares.

"No, they're fine," he insists. "'sides, I can wear thicker socks in them!"

Oh, yes, the socks. Russia hopes this doesn't mean Poland has looked through his house and found his Christmas presents again. He was pretty proud of having found a pair the exact right shade of rose to go with Poland's favorite winter hat.

"I see," Russia says simply. "If you feel comfortable walking, I think you can get them. They look very good."

Poland still seems hesitant.

"Are you sure, like, the little buckles aren't too much with the fur? I mean, it's totally cute, but maybe I, like, need a simpler pair of boots instead and since the economy is all..."

He waves his hand dismissively. He doesn't like talking about being reasonable or practical when shopping. Or at any time, really.

Still, Russia doesn't care.

"The brown ones we saw earlier," he points out. "They looked very good, too." High, a little heel, leather... just feminine enough to compliment Poland's legs perfectly, in Russia's not-really-professional opinion.

Poland looks absolutely torn. It's heartbreaking. Adorably, innocently heartbreaking - Russia might even feel a little thankful towards capitalism for bringing this expression to Poland's face so often.

"They were good too, huh..?"

Russia pretends to be thinking this over - he's already decided what to do, but he wants to look at that face just a little bit longer.

"I will get them for you, then," he says finally. The sweet expression fades, but the beaming one - not to mention the kiss - is lovely, too.


	5. Bed

_Prompt: Russ/Liet/Pol poly relationship where everyone's treated equally._

—_-_

Poland's bed was _huge_ - it was normally meant for a couple, probably, maybe even a brat squished between them, but Poland bought it for himself a few months ago. He figured his newly renovated house deserved the best furniture, and so he made sure to get the biggest bed he could find. It was bed Poland could lose himself in, trash and twist and dream (and daydream) and play as much as he wanted. There was enough place for five, even six pillows, and he even had had to buy the fabric himself to make a quilt that covered it. It took him months of hard work, and there was barely enough space left in his room now for his bookcase and his dresser, let alone that cute little fireplace he had really wanted, but it was totally worth it.

Lithuania's was squeaky and barely big enough for two adults; Russia's was comfortable and large, but old and there was a dent in the mattress, right in the middle, where he had slept alone for so long. (Poland and Lithuania had considered giving him a new one last December, but Russia had been too proud to accept; they went out for dinner instead, and Lithuania had woken up the next morning with a horrible stiff neck. That was when they had decided to spend their next long weekends at Poland's house, at least until Russia got rid of the stupid mattress.)

So, the amazing thing about Poland's new bed was that, despite Russia's considerable bulk and Lithuania's long, lanky limbs, there was plenty of space on it for the three of them to sleep, cuddle, or do loads of other fun activities. Like sex, for example.

Russia could stand on his knees, Lithuania between his legs and Poland's arms thrown around his neck, pink lips dropping dozens of little kisses on his shoulders. Lithuania could pull Russia down until the bigger nation reached him with his hands and touched him, groped him, jerked him. Lithuania could moan and groan and Poland could lie down besides him, kissing him hard until Lithuania was left silently gasping through his release. Then they could effortlessly switch places, one lying down while the other two covered every inch of his body with their hands and lips, over and over again until they were all spent and sweaty.

Then, they would have enough space to fall asleep in each others' arms, limbs warm and heavy. The blankets wouldn't be thrown all over the room, and so Poland could hog them and pull them over his head, as usual. Russia wouldn't wake when Lithuania got up at 2 to use the bathroom, but he knew they were there, close to him, holding on to him, and on these nights, he could sleep peacefully, an honest smile illuminating features.

It wasn't why Poland had chosen this bed in the first place, not really, but it certainly was a good enough reason to ditch the fireplace.


	6. Together

_RusLietPol - One watching the others kiss. Damn, that was hard. also it turned out a little creepy… _

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><p>It was alright, Russia understood. Lithuania and Poland hadn't seen each other for a long time, after all, and Russia knew firsthand how kind and gentle Lithuania's kisses were. Poland must have been so very sad to be far away from these kisses for all these years.<p>

But they were together now, finally, all of them. Poland was crying, Russia noticed, small wet tears escaping his eyes, rolling down his cheeks to end on Lithuania's fingers holding his jaw. It was a very pretty sight, and Russia also understood why Lithuania had dropped his little tea cup and rushed over to greet him.

Russia also wondered how Poland's kisses tasted like. Maybe sweet, because Lithuania seemed to enjoy them like he enjoyed the sweet little cakes Russia made for him sometimes. As he and Poland embraced, Lithuania's eyes were closed, and he was making noises he never made when Russia kissed him. Russia would have to ask Poland how he made Lithuania sound like this; or maybe he would have to taste for himself.

He didn't know if they would let him. Russia was a little shy sometimes, but if Lithuania had kissed him and he was kissing Poland now, maybe he wouldn't mind?

Yes, he would have to ask, maybe over tea. It would be a different kind of kiss, surely, the three of them together, but it would also be good, and kind and gentle and sweet.


	7. Just A Detail

_Wrote this for a kink meme request - it didn't really fit the request, but since it's so short, I decided to post it anyway. RussLietPol and human names._

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><p><strong>Just A Detail<strong>

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><p>It was nothing big, really. Just a tiny little detail, a drop in the ocean of issues the three of them could - should - did have.<p>

It wasn't even as if he thought about it a lot; in fact, most of the time, it didn't register at all, how Lithuania was Toris and Poland was Feliks, but Russia was Russia.

Not Ivan. Never had been, to them - always Russia, just Russia.

Just a little something, at the back of his mind sometimes when he smiled at them and they smiled back. Why, then, if they were happy? He wondered. Well, he had an inkling, but they were thoughts he put away at a far away corner of his mind when he was with them (he had to, or smiling would be a lot harder), so he had to ask.

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><p>He asked Lithuania first; caught him as they were loading the car with bags and food, on their way to Russia's old dacha near Saint Petersburg. Poland was already in the front seat, picking which album they should play on the road.<p>

At first, Lithuania looked away and stuttered something, but Russia didn't catch any of it and so he asked again. This time, Lithuania was quiet for a moment (Russia let himself be disappointed - he thought Lithuania would speak to him - trust him - more).

"There's nothing - wrong with you," he said, his voice uncertain, as if he was trying to cover up for some kind of story (involving Russia's coat, maybe, or his sister). Russia's disappointment grew a little heavier and he frowned.

"It's just - not something we think about. Sorry."

Then, he added something about trying to include him more, but Russia wasn't really listening anymore. Either way, it wasn't what he wanted to hear; it was time to leave for the dacha.

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><p>He asked Poland next. Not at the dacha, no, because that was enjoyable and they had a lot of fun and that would have made things strange (although it would have been nice to have had an answer without having to ask, so he kept his ears open anyway, so to speak).<p>

They were sitting at a coffee shop, and Lithuania had gone to order two iced lattes and a black tea (Russia didn't really like iced lattes). Poland didn't make him repeat like Lithuania had, but he laughed so loudly Russia wondered if he had understood well.

"Dude," Poland said, wiping at his eyes (uselessly, because he was laughing, not crying). "It's just something Liet and I've done for like... centuries, y'know? Way, way before we started going out with you. 's no big deal, so don't worry 'bout it, 'kay?"

Russia supposed it made sense, in a way, and besides, Poland was "Liet this" and "Liet that" most of the time anyway.

But he also remembered hearing America say Toris, once or maybe twice, and his heart ached - more than a little. Then Lithuania came back, and the tea at least made him feel warmer, so Russia smiled and said thanks.

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><p>It felt like years (and it was) before he heard Lithuania call him Ivan; even longer until he heard Poland do the same.<p>

A little voice in Russia's head told him Lithuania hadn't really meant anything by it, probably hadn't even noticed his own slip; but Russia made himself believe that the warm, wonderful smile Toris gave him as he left that morning ("Bye Ivan, see you next week.") was completely truthful and honest.

Feliks grinned and kissed him ("Wow, Ivan that was, like, fantastic, amazing! We so have to do it this way again!") and Ivan's whole body blushed but he smiled back because there was no mistaking the honesty in Feliks' words.

It didn't really register on Ivan's mind at the time, but smiling when they were together became a little easier, after that.


	8. Sleepover

"It's too much. Like, way to much. Too much, I can't, I can't, I can't."

Poland was slouched on the bench, shaking his head. His shirt slipped from his shoulder. Russia stared at him, frowning. If he continued like this, Poland was going to ruin his pretty make-up and the hair he spent so much time styling only a few hours ago.

"Why not?" Russia asked. "What's wrong?"

"Jus' can't," Poland pouted. "'s too weird, Like, sleepin' over at your place. Liet'd think it's too weird."

"Ah," Russia could understand, but Lithuania usually thought many things were too weird; he worried, but Russia never saw how it was a bad thing - it was pretty funny, wasn't it? "But you are drunk. Lithuania would not think it is very funny if I left you here by yourself."

Poland looked thoughtful for a moment; or at least, Russia though he was. His cheeks were red and his eyes unfocused, it was hard to tell. He was frowning a little, too, but that was easy; Russia knew Poland hated when he made more sense than him, especially when he had a few empty bottles on his side of the table.

When he tried to get up, stumbling a little as his knees caught the side of the table, Russia got up after him, a ounce (or perhaps a shot or two) more graceful, and caught him before he could fall to the ground and hurt himself, or worse - cause a scene.

Immediately, Poland clung to him, small hands clutching Russia's heavy shirt, his nose buried in the taller nation's neck. His body was warm and soft, and Russia felt the urge to pet his hair - like a cute small animal, his mind supplied innocently

A little voice inside his head, though, sounding suspiciously like Lithuania, scolded him for allowing such a train of thought, and he stopped.

"M' house," Poland slurred. "Liet's there. 's go to my house. Y' can stay 'f you wanna. 'd be okay."

Russia smiled; yes, that was something he always liked to hear. He picked Poland up easily, the smaller nation not protesting and snuggling closer to his body, and kissed his forehead.

"Sleepover?" he asked hopefully; but Poland was already snoring on his shoulder.

Cute. Russia shrugged, smiling, and carried him home.


	9. Unfair

_Inspired by a random post/conversation on my tumblr dash, late at night. which explains the quality (or lack of thereof)_

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><p>"You are so very light – even with your gut full of beer and other things, aren't you?"<p>

"I-I _said_-! Like, put me _down_!"

"I do not think I will."

Russia stopped. Oddly enough, Poland also stopped struggling – just in time to avoid hitting his head in the doorway. Suddenly calmer, he looked at Russia with bleary, confused green eyes.

"Uh… why not, though?"

His confused expression was so very – endearing. Russia might have poked his nose for good measure – he knew how much the other disliked it – but as small as Poland was, he was still heavy enough for Russia to need both arms to carry him.

(Plus, Russia had had a few glasses himself. Three, four maybe, he had lost count, but he could still remember the whole day so very clearly, so it couldn't have been much more.)

"What will you do if I let you go, I wonder…"

"Like, go home? Y'can… come with me, right?"

"No, I do not think so."

Poland's cheeks, already pink from the alcohol, turned a deeper shade of red. His smile widened, and although Russia had never quite been able to guess exactly what went on in that silly head, he felt his own face grow a little pink as well.

"Oh, I get it, I see!" Poland giggled. He sounded odd to Russia, but then again, he _was_ very drunk. "Want me to stay here for the night, then, uh?"

Oh, only that. Russia let out a – relieved? maybe, it was too early to tell if it was appropriate yet– sigh.

"Yes, it would be safer this way, I think. Getting lost as the nights are getting colder is not something you should do very often."

Poland hummed, and all traces of his previous resistance left his body.

"Let's, like… go to bed, yeah?"

This was easier than Russia had thought. _Well then!_

"If you are tired, then alright."

Poland closed his eyes and smiled.

"Alright, then, big guy."

Russia frowned as he carried the other nation to the living room. He should have known – this was not such a good sign.

"Don't call me that, please."

Poland cracked an eye open, but kept smiling; Russia thought it was very disturbing how Poland kept looking at him like this, and he put him down on the couch.

"But you are, though, right? Like… a big guy."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Oh, I think you do," Poland slurred – and Russia was not so sure it was from the beer and vodka anymore. He turned away, in part to hide his own embarrassment, and in part to grab a blanket from another chair.

"You are very drunk, Pol'sha," he said, making sure to enunciate all the words clearly, as if he was talking to a small child.

"Oh, come on! Just, like, fuck me tonight?"

"Absolutely not!"

Poland pouted. Russia dared to look at him – not matter how annoying a pouting Poland was, he was quite adorable. He careful put the blanket over him.

"Unfair!" Poland whined.

"It would be unfair if I did fuck you, don't you think?" Russia calmly explained. "You must not be feeling very well, after all."

"I, huh…" Poland – quite adorably, again – bit his lip, as if he was deep in thought – which he couldn't have been, as drunk as he was. "I'm, like, kinda dizzy?"

"There you go," Russia patted the other's leg. "I will get you a glass of water, alright? Please do not move, there are very fragile things in this room and you would damage them, I think."

"Okay?" Poland's voice was smaller, tired. Russia knew enough as to not interpret it as defeat – but still.

"If you are good, maybe tomorrow, we will talk. But not before you sober up."


End file.
